Page 12 of His Forgotten Highland Bride

Chapter Five

Scottish Highlands

June 1695, five years later

Brenna braced herself as she sat next to Ewan at the head dais for the morning meal. As usual, he looked ill and appeared asleep at the table.

Already seated on her other side, Will, the war chief, nodded and wished her a good morning. She returned his greeting and offered a smile to her friend. Placing her hands in her lap, she awaited the laird’s arrival.

“Go ahead and eat. He’s not coming,” Will told her.

She glanced up in surprise. “Why not?”

“He nicked his arm. It was a small cut, though he said it festers and bothers him. I sent Moira to his chamber to mend him. She’ll give him some foul-tasting broth from her basket, and the stubborn old bastard will be good as new.”

Will meant no dishonor when referring to the laird with such words. She knew their bond was deep and full of respect. If Will said anything else, she didn’t hear it. She was instantly on her feet and hurrying through the hall to the stairs. Her guards, Gabe and Malcolm, followed close behind. She hated to cause them to abandon their meals, but it couldn’t be helped. She knocked on Geordie’s door and waited for permission to enter.

She found the laird sitting in bed, his face flushed but smiling when he saw her. “Why did you not call for me when you were injured?” she asked, hurrying around the side of the bed to see his wound.

Will had said it was only a nick, so she wasn’t prepared to see the angry wound on the inside of the laird’s forearm. A peculiar red line trailed from the gash and continued to his elbow.

The healer had noticed it, too. She frowned at Brenna from the other side of the bed. Brenna had seen this before…with dying men. “Will he be all right?” she asked the older woman.

Moira pressed her lips together but said nothing. Brenna didn’t like the healer’s silence. It did not bode well for the man she’d come to love as a father.

“I need to speak to you about the running of the clan,” he said, his voice stronger than he seemed capable of.

She shook her head. She didn’t want to speak of such dire things.

“You are the laird. You must get well and see to the running of the clan as you always have.”

He smiled and patted her hand with his icy fingers. “I intend to do just that, but it is a foolish leader who does not plan for any possibility.”

She nodded. He’d taught her many things in the five years since she’d come to live at Strathspey. He’d welcomed her thoughts and opinions in matters of the clan and explained his rulings so she might understand.

“What do you wish me to do?”

He shook his head. “It is already done. I’ve sent a message to Ronan asking him to return. It’s time he come home and do his duty.”

She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry at hearing her husband’s name.

“If something were to happen before he returns, you will be in charge.”

“Me? But I’m not a Grant by blood.” She and Geordie shared a look, and despite the silence, she understood what he would never say aloud. If not her, the duty would fall to the next in line. Ewan. And he wasn’t capable of such responsibility.

After taking a steadying breath and wiping away a tear that had escaped, she gave a firm nod. “As you wish, my laird. I will do my best to make you proud.”

“You already have. I’ve signed a decree with my wishes, which was witnessed this morning by Will and Hugh. I know the clan is in safe hands.”

She leaned forward to press a kiss to his soft cheek. “Aye. I might not be a Grant by blood, but I am a Grant in my heart.” Before she’d finished speaking, Geordie had closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. She went to sit by the window so she’d be close by if he woke and needed her. She looked across the fields to the southern border and wondered how long it would be until Ronan arrived.

It had been five years since they’d married. Much had changed in that time. She was no longer a silly girl, hoping her charming husband might love her someday. His extended absence and uninterrupted silence had told her everything she needed to know about Ronan’s feelings and the kind of man he truly was.

***

Brenna woke the morning of the laird’s funeral unable to breathe. After his last words to her to take charge of the clan, he’d drifted off to sleep and didn’t wake again. That considerable responsibility placed on her shoulders was sure to cause a panic.

But the struggles with her new duty weren’t what was causing her inability to take in air. It was Ewan’s hands grasped tightly around her throat that caused her distress this morning. It was light enough for her to see him clearly as his weight pressed her to the mattress.